The Outlaw's Bride

She trembled at his words, knowing that he would not back down, that his determination exceeded her own in this matter. Her head bowed, she walked into the center of the bedroom, and behind her, heard the door swing open, knew the moment he entered the quiet of her bedroom.

“Why are you running from me?”

She turned to face him, knowing she was but a dim shadow in the darkness of her room. He was limned in the doorway, the kitchen lamp glowing behind him, and she was struck with the size of him, the width of his shoulders, the way his head brushed close to the lintel. “I haven’t run. Only tried to find a place by myself, where I can think my own thoughts without you…”

He walked closer to her, almost touching her clothing with his own, so near did he stand. The warmth exuding from his body touched her with fingers of fire and she withdrew, almost trying to shrink within the contours of her dress. “I’ve never tried to infringe on your privacy, Debra, only tried to speak with you, to make you understand my thoughts and ideas. I don’t know how to convince you that I’d be a good husband to you, that marriage for us would be a good choice.”

“You’re infringing on me now,” she said harshly, her voice lifting with the anger behind it. “Go away, Tyler, and leave me be. I don’t want you near me.”

He smiled, and she was almost convinced by the gentleness that expression conveyed. “I think your problem may be that you do want me near you, Nightsong. And you’re not sure what to do about it. I don’t think my touch is repulsive to you, for you tremble beneath my hands, and your mouth softens when I touch it with mine.”

He would touch her now. She knew it, in the depths of her body, where the gentle fires of her newborn passion burned. And when his hands were on her, when she yearned to crush herself against his greater strength, those fires might burn out of control, and she would no longer be able to refuse him.

As if her thoughts reached his mind, as if he knew exactly what she feared, his hands gripped her waist, drawing her closer to his form, and then slid behind her, capturing her in the warmth of those muscular limbs that held her with the tenderness of a mother with a child.

She wanted to melt against him, her body cried out for the heat that radiated from him, and her legs trembled with weakness that was not usual for Debra Nightsong. She’d always been strong, capable and certain of her needs. Now this man held her body next to his, and suddenly her needs were those he’d brought to life within her.

She craved his fingers beneath her breasts as they had been only long minutes ago on the porch, and at the same time, she hated the yearning she felt. For it could only make her weak to so cling to a man. She must be strong, as her mother had bid her. She must stand on her own two feet and make a life that would be safe and under her control.

Yet, the strength of the man before her drew her inexorably into his shadow, and she felt almost a part of him, her breasts crushed against his wide chest, her legs parting for the intrusion of his muscular thighs between them. He smoothed the fabric of her dress down the full length of her back and his hands cradled the firm rounding of her bottom, lifting her against himself, holding her high so that her face was on a level with his.

His words were soft, but firm, and she watched his lips, barely moving as he issued his will aloud. “Kiss me, Debra. Touch my lips with yours and taste the desire I hold in my heart for you.”

She could barely breathe, her heart pounding in her chest like the drums in her mother’s village. His lips lured her, softening before her eyes, parting as if he strove to catch a breath, glistening from his tongue’s movement across them, and she was drawn into his spell.

Her mouth opened a bit, and she offered him the caress he had demanded, for she would not allow him to think she only did as he asked out of fear. Her lips were soft against his, her mouth a vessel to be filled by the length of his tongue, and though the caressing movement against her teeth and her own tongue was still new and strange to her, she felt warmed by his taking of her in this way.

He tilted his head a bit, the better to gain his goal, his mouth opening over hers, his tongue suckling hers in a gentle motion that sent shards of sensation to the depths of her belly. He tasted of the coffee he’d drunk for supper, of the peppermint candy he kept in his pocket. A mixture of sweetness, of masculine strength, of all the things she loved about him.

And that, she realized as his tongue traced the ridges of her mouth, was the sole reason she would accede to his demands. For she loved not only his taste, his touch and the look of him, but the man himself, the man who had entered her life so harshly, with no warning, and taken over the running of her farm as if it were his due. And perhaps it was, for she knew she had given him reason to take his place here as a helpmate, as a husband.

In all but name and physical possession, she was his already, his wife, his woman.

He left her mouth then, touching her cheek and the fragile skin of her throat with the warmth of his lips, whispering against her ear with words that wrote upon her heart, words that claimed her as his own, that promised her his troth, his love and support in all she did, all that she hoped for.

“I’ll take care of you, Nightsong. You’ll never want for anything—food, clothing or love. If you’ll share your home with me, I’ll protect you and keep it safe for you and our children. And before many days have passed, I’ll find a way to clear my name of the charges against me.”

“Our children?” Her mind had been focused on those words and she pushed against his chest. He allowed it, allowed the tilting of her head as she looked up at him and, in the dim light of her room, saw his smile, knew the strength of the man who held her. Whose arms kept her above the floor, tight to his body, yet did not threaten her with the arousal she felt through the layers of clothing that separated them.

His words were firm. “The children we will form between us.” He wanted her body, as a man wants a woman, but he would not force her to his will, would not demand she perform as his wife. Not now, not until she spoke the words that would determine her future with him. A future it seemed he had already considered and planned in detail.

“Marry me, Nightsong.” It was a demand, the strength of his voice resounding in her ears as she heard his insistence vibrate in each syllable. “I need you, Debra. I need your nearness to me, your woman’s warmth in the night, and your strength in the day. I need to know that you will be mine for all the days of our lives, that we will share the joys of marriage, and perhaps the sorrows that will come to us. I can’t promise you that it will be a smooth road that we take, but I can promise that I’ll be with you every step of the way. I’ll never betray you or make you sorry that you’ve become mine.”

Her arms lifted to encircle his neck and she leaned forward to rest her head against his shoulder, needing the knowledge that he held her firmly, that he would not loose her from his touch, that his promises were true and she would be safe with him.

“I’ll marry you, Tyler. It will turn you into an outcast, as I am, but if that is your desire, then I’ll not tell you no.”

“I need no one but you, Debra. I need no one’s acceptance but yours.”

“Then we’ll go into town and find out the way it should be done,” she said quietly, her words muffled against his shirt.

“Will you marry me in front of a man of the cloth? Or will that not be according to your beliefs?”

“I’m half-white, Tyler. My mother and father were married that way, but they had to go miles to find a preacher man who would do it for them. The church in town was not willing to accept them.”

“And are the same people there now?” he asked. “Is the preacher there the same man now, as then?”

“I don’t think so. He’s a young man, with a young family. The other preacher was gone when I came back to the farm. My mother had not had good things to say about him, but I think she would have liked this man. He’s young, kind and has warm eyes.”

“Then we’ll ask him to perform the ceremony for us. And if he refuses, we’ll find someone else. Even the judge for this district will do, but I’d feel better if we were married in a church.”

“We’ll do whatever is right in your eyes,” she said, willing to allow him his way in this.

His arms tightened around her, holding her against him more firmly and she felt her woman’s flesh soften and gather heat from his body. Inhaling sharply, she moved against him, needing to be free of him, of the temptation of his body against hers. He loosed his grip on her bottom and she slid down the length of his torso, until her feet touched the bedroom floor.